


Hindsight

by FauxFidele



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dark Will Graham, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Explicit Language, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Hand Kink, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hannigram - Freeform, IDK just Will has a hand fetish ok, M/M, Murder Husbands, Murder Husbands in Europe, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 03, Power Play, Smut, Wet Dream, Will Loves Hannibal, domestic murder husbands, serious hand porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 04:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5854444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FauxFidele/pseuds/FauxFidele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: A story about hands. </p><p>Naturally, I took that to mean a story about Will having a secret fetish for Hannibal's hands. And then it devolved into smut. But then evolved back to fluff. </p><p>It's the circle of life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hindsight

It was the first thing Will ever noticed about him. He eyed Dr. Lecter suspiciously back in Jack’s office, somehow acutely aware that he was … _different_.

The doctor reached for the crime scene photos, thumbing over them with the lightest of touches, allowing his fingers to trace just along the edge of the paper, leaving no discernible fingerprints. Will remembered telling himself it was a sign of inexperience; hesitation caused by a lack of practical experience with the grotesque and macabre.

 _Hindsight_ , Will thought to himself, shrugging, with a dismissive smile.

Then there was Abigail.

Will struggled to keep his wits about him after shooting Garret Jacob Hobbs, his hands shaking violently as he tried to cover Abigail’s wounded neck as the blood spilled onto their kitchen floor. It was Hannibal then who intervened, placing a firm, steady hand over the gash, relieving Will of the burden.

Watching Hannibal Lecter save Abigail’s life ignited an exhilarating sensation inside of him, rising up against delirious ecstasy of killing Garret Jacob Hobbs. Will’s eyes lingered on Hannibal, fingers cupped firmly around her throat, mesmerized by his calm resolve and surety of actions.

Now, a million lifetimes away, tucked away in a quaint European villa, Will thought only of these ancient memories as their hands interlaced with one another. He allowed his index finger to trail along the inside of the psychiatrist’s hand, outlining the shape of his palm and continuing up along the side of his finger, as the two sat side by side on the vintage leather couch.

The delicate movements of his fingers were always perfectly synced together, whether meticulously chopping fresh tarragon for a new soup, or strumming them rhythmically atop the ivory harpsichord keys. His fingers moved fluidly like individual ballet dancers, coordinating with a poised and elegant grace, always mid-performance.

These were also the same fingers that gripped the steel blade and slid it across Abigail’s throat in the kitchen that night, the exhibition brutal in its dramatic flair. The same hands that painted the scar across Will’s abdomen, ensuring his consciousness and subsequent survival, less the performance go unappreciated.

 _  
Another world. Another lifetime …_ Will thought, as he closed his eyes tightly.

_Another version of myself. And Hannibal._

 

Hannibal raised a curious eyebrow. “Everything okay, Will?”

Will squeezed his hand tight, curving his own fingers around the doctor’s, appreciating how large they look even next to his own, which he’d never considered particularly small.

His nails were always well manicured, Will noticed, and he’d found that Hannibal made a nightly ritual out of ensuring as much. He chewed on his bottom lip, suppressing a grin at the thought.

After their encounter with the Red Dragon, Hannibal tended to his wounds in painstaking detail, even foregoing his own care to ensure that each of Will’s scrapes and cuts had been cleaned and mended. He had argued, trying to reciprocate and assist Hannibal with his own wounds, but he refused.

“I’ll heal faster with the peace of mind that your injuries are under control,” the doctor had snapped, and Will sensed the concern in his voice.

It was the first time all of the pieces came together in Will’s mind – his talks with Bedelia, their conversation just before the fight, and … _the embrace_.  
  
His heart raced excitedly at the memory, recalling Hannibal’s fingers trailing down his back and curving just around his hipbone, pawing at tufts of shirt fabric that bunched under his touch, pulling him in close. Will dug his own claws into Hannibal’s shoulder, clumsy and needy, overwhelmed at the rightness of it all.

_And then they fell._

As Hannibal tended to his injuries after the fall, Will was reminded of the night he spent with him after killing Randall Tier. Will flushed red thinking about it even now, recalling the gentle, healing caress of Hannibal’s heavy fingers against his raw, open wounds, as he dressed his bloodied knuckles.

It was the first time Will recognized the feeling, a _euphoric_ _comfort_. It sunk in thick and heavy beneath his skin with each stroke of Hannibal’s fingers against his own. He allowed his walls not only to come down, but to topple over entirely _._ He was profoundly ... at ease.

 

As he returned to the present, Will allowed a subtle smile to form at the corners of his mouth, just briefly, as he made eye contact with Hannibal, but didn't speak.

Hannibal looked back at him with leery, but amused, uncertainty. He shrugged it off, becoming accustomed to Will’s spontaneous episodes of unexplained brooding, and had learned to try not to pry.

As Hannibal reached for his wine, Will observed him thoughtfully, appreciating the delicacy of touch he used to balance the stem between his fingers, twisting it back and forth to swish the liquid, pausing to allow the smell to inundate his senses.

He took a sip and smiled affectionately back at Will, recognizing his mind busy at work.

“Sorry,” Will said with a nostalgic, if not apologetic, smile. “Just lost in thought.” He took a gulp of wine from his own glass.

“As long as you find your way back, Will,” he said, smiling, but with slightly narrowed eyes hinting at concern.

Will huffed, a crooked smile forming on his lips. “I always seem to find my way back, _somehow_ ,” he said, raising wide eyes to meet the stare. “Think I might always be stuck in your magnetic field, _Doctor_.”

“Well, I certainly don’t want to force you into anything,” he replied, turning his nose up and away, exaggerating his offense.

With their hands still connected, Will shifted and tugged Hannibal in closely, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss. His mouth broke into a smile as he pulled away.

“ _Yes you do_ ,” Will whispered playfully, his smile now fully exposing his teeth as he moved his free hand around Hannibal’s hips, fingers ghosting along his waistband.

Hannibal’s eyes traced Will up and down hungrily, as if deciding where to begin. He pushed Will against the far end of the couch, Will’s back against the armrest, as he lifted himself over top, balancing his legs on either side of the younger man.

When he steadied himself, Hannibal brought both hands to Will’s shirt, working his fingers to slide the mother-of-pearl buttons through each interstice in seemingly fast-forward motion. Will had to suppress a chuckle at Hannibal’s newly found sense of urgency.

Hannibal was always patient, until _he wasn’t_.

Finally the last button pulled free and Hannibal slid his hand up along Will’s bare chest, just barely tracing the tip of his finger across his scar and up along his abdomen. Will exhaled a drawn out, breathy groan and vocalized his approval.

Hannibal brushed his lips against his chest, sucking and biting around the small peaks of his nipples, as he guided his hands around to Will’s back, allowing his nails to trail down lightly against his flesh. He slowly dragged them lower, and lower, until he was finally hindered by a stubborn, denim waistband.

Will bucked his hips toward Hannibal as he called upon the same force of urgency to unfasten his fly, hooking his fingers over the band as Will wriggled around to assist in the removal of his pants, wincing as they tugged down over his erection.

Hannibal allowed himself a brief moment to admire Will, pinned against the armrest, cock desperately hard under the fabric of his boxers. Will moaned weakly as the doctor deliberated, moving his mouth toward the glistening wet spot covering his hardness.

“W … wait,” Will mustered, already panting.

Hannibal raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the interruption, mouth still agape and hovering at Will’s groin.

Will bit his lip, hesitating. “Just …” he started, a shy smile taking form.

Hannibal waited, impatiently.

“ _Just your hands_ ,” Will said finally, low and almost begging.

Hannibal’s eyes softened as he straightened himself once again, allowing his hands to reach under the elastic of Will’s shorts and pull them off slowly, maneuvering one leg out and then the other, before discarding them to the side.

He molded his hands around Will’s waist, feeling the sharp angles of his hips as they jutted toward him, his swollen, slickened cock rutting against his own erection that pressed painfully against his trousers.

One hand ventured lower, finding its way to Will’s ass, squeezing his cheeks and letting his finger tease just along the outside of his entrance. Will tensed and groaned at the stimulation, wriggling impatiently until Hannibal wrapped his fingers along the length of his cock, effectively focusing his attention.

Will admired the firm fingers gripping around the base of his cock, the veins in Hannibal’s hands protruding as they coiled around and settled into place. Firm and steady. _Deliberate_.

He let out a low growl as he watched the older man’s hands work around his length, fighting the overwhelming urge to grunt and moan at each physical sensation.

“Do you like it when I use my hands to give you pleasure, Will?” he asked as he gently thumbed over Will’s opening, spreading the precum around the base of his head and stroking it slowly down the shaft.

Will bit his lip and stifled a loud groan, his nails digging into the side of the couch.

“Don’t believe I heard you, Will,” he said, grinning.

He moved his hand up and down Will’s length, slick enough from the precum to make continuous, fluid strokes, stopping only to occasionally to thumb a slight pressure along the underside of his head, fingers poignant and careful as they massaged around the tip.

“Nnnnnnnffff,” Will mustered as his eyes rolled back into his head, his panting thicker and heavier with every stroke.

“ _Yesssss_ ,” he finally whimpered, barely audible.

Hannibal arranged his free hand under Will’s balls, grazing his fingertips along the underside, moving further and further back, approaching the warm, tight opening. A strained whimper barely escaped through Will’s heaving breaths.

Hannibal looked pleased and slowly, but steadily quickened the pace of his strokes.

“You like knowing what I’ve done with my hands, _don’t you_?” Hannibal said, moving to whisper in Will’s ear. Will winced and groaned as Hannibal squeezed again under his sensitive head.

“Do you like the power, Will?” he asked, guiding a finger along Will’s perineum, and pressing firmly, contrasting against the rhythmic motions against his cock. Will moaned once more, grimacing at the abundance of stimulation, sweat now dripping in beads from his temple.

Hannibal swirled his finger around the sensitive perineum again, tracing along his opening and repeating the trajectory.

“ _You like to feel powerful, don’t you_?” he whispered into Will’s ear as he pressed two steady fingers against his perineum - _hard_.

“ _Yesssssss_ ,” Will hissed out, as a burning heat exploded through him, his vision wild and blurry, and cum streaming up through Hannibal’s fingers as the warm, sticky wetness splattered across his abdomen.

He laid mostly still, chest heaving up and down, frozen in a state of blissful disorientation as he looked up at the ceiling, trying to collect his thoughts. Hannibal pulled away, grabbing a close kitchen towel to clean up their mess.

As he went to wipe his fingers clean, Hannibal was unable to resist bringing his index finger just above his own lips, first identifying the scent, and then taking his finger whole, licking it clean and lingering to savor the taste.

Will lifted curious eyes to meet Hannibal’s, and the older man smiled. “I like to feel powerful, too, Will.”

 

* * *

 

Will sprang from his sleep. His shirt was soaking wet and he was winded, breathing like he just ran a marathon.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said to himself groggily, looking over to the alarm clock that read 6:19 A.M.

Reluctantly he lifted the covers, face reddening as the realization sunk in. Of course he felt it now, his pants were covered in wetness, the sheets underneath him dampened as well. He threw his head back against his pillow, annoyed and embarrassed, and closed his eyes with a heavy sigh.

He tried to discretely roll out of bed, but a familiar hand draped across his chest before he could escape.

“Good dream, Will?” Hannibal teased sleepily, a half smile forming at the corner of his mouth. Will tried to pull away, but Hannibal tightened his grip and pulled Will back to the bed, rolling him over so they were face to face.

Will tried to bury his face. Hannibal chuckled softly. “It sounded like a good dream, at any rate,” he mused playfully.

“Oh my god,” Will muttered, disparaging, as a half-grin desperately tried to take form. The redness burned his ears, making him hot. And grouchy.

A quick nudge at his stomach made Will jump, and Hannibal muffled a laugh, wrapped an arm around him, and tucked him in close.

“Was I there at least?” he asked, tone still cheerful, while he planted a quick kiss on Will’s forehead between his messy curls.

Will balled the sheets into his face and let out an exaggerated, muffled groan. He looked up finally to meet Hannibal’s eyes. “Fine. _Yes_ ,” he said, as if he were complaining.

“Does that make you happy?” Will asked, feigning agitation, as he suppressed a wide grin and buried his head into Hannibal’s chest, forcing his arms to wrap around him even tighter.

“ _More than you know_ ,” Hannibal said softly, resting his forehead into Will’s and allowed his hand to trace gently up and down the curvature of his back, cherishing their embrace.


End file.
